Be that change

In my first year of teaching I was attacked. I’ve been hit since, and – like many of us – have had to restrain my fair share of angry youngsters from damaging themselves, other children, members of staff and poorly-constructed walls. Nothing compares, however, to the events of that afternoon, sometime in the first term of my NQT year.

I was on duty at the end of the day, walking down the staff car park drive towards the long, platform-like bus stop at the front of the school. This was also a visitors’ car park, which often made 3:25pm an M25 of a home-time rush. I was normally on my own here, although this hadn’t previously bothered me as I could always see colleagues below me towards the other end of the bus stop.

There was a gathering of children, mostly older who I didn’t know, around what looked immediately…